


The Reason Is You

by BashfulBunny (Aequoreavictoria)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha John, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe, Angst, Attempted Sexual Assault, BAMF John, Complete, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Medical, Omega Sherlock, Omega Verse, Past Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Protective John, Romance, Tender Sex, Virgin Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-22
Updated: 2014-10-02
Packaged: 2018-02-14 06:48:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 12,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2181999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aequoreavictoria/pseuds/BashfulBunny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John/Sherlock. A/O Verse. Alpha!John, Omega!Sherlock, Sherlock BBC Prompting Meme </p>
<p>"John really likes Sherlock, but he's not sure he should move in with an Omega (Sherlock is one). He's worried that things will be stressful for both of them. </p>
<p>Sherlock, however, tells him that it won't be a problem since his body doesn't work properly and he's never had a heat at all, not a single one. He has a medical condition and his hormones prevent him from being a proper Omega, and therapy didn't work either (not that Sherlock minds. His nature doesn't distract him from really important things, he doesn't want a relationship or family anyway, so he's perfectly fine with his condition).</p>
<p>So they start living together. But John's hormones start affecting Sherlock eventually. Not right away, but, gradually, something changes in Sherlock's body. And one day he goes into heat, the very first one.  He panics.  John tries his best to soothe him and control his own instincts that tell him to take the virgin Omega immediately."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. January

**Author's Note:**

> I thank the lovely EvilConcubine for the wonderful concept and plot of this story.

“I think we’ll suit each other quite well. I’m gender-neutral and your reproductive system is seriously compromised due to depression and PTSD. In my mind that makes the arrangement ideal, don’t you think?”

John blinked and took a step backward, unused to such a bald assessment of his mental−and sexual−weaknesses by a complete stranger.

But he said nothing other than, “Right then. Well, the place is nice, or, could be nice, with a bit of tidying, so, ah, alright then. Let’s give it a try.”

It was probably madness on John’s part; he was still a functional Alpha after all−although, as Sherlock pointed out, he was now disabled. But John was intrigued by the man before him, all dark curls, pale skin and eyes that flashed blue lightening. For the first time in months John felt the stirring of something like life inside himself; a small flare of light in the unceasing grey of his existence, and he would not turn away from it now.

The man was likely right, John thought bitterly; he was no risk. Sherlock had obviously scrutinized him and written him off as any sort of threat, for to invite a strange Alpha into his home, even a disabled one, was an unthinkable risk for an average Omega. And John had known immediately Sherlock was an Omega despite Sherlock’s claim of being sexless. Sherlock had the speed, the alertness and the wariness of a prey animal, although he had none of the fear. He was an Omega certainly, but no average Omega, that was obvious. He had a supremely confident demeanor, a bold stride and tightly coiled strength; John could sense that he was ready to spring from harm’s way on a split second’s notice if required. And John had no doubt that the man’s self-defence skills would be on par with John’s own fighting skills−at least John’s skills as they had been back when he was still a soldier−a warrior−and not the lame, halting man that obviously he was perceived as now, if Sherlock’s dismissive assessment of him was any indication.

He sighed, knowing there was no point in wasting time dwelling on his past glory. He would move in with Sherlock, it was the only option available to him anyway, and try to find some satisfaction and meaning in whatever he could still do as a physician.


	2. March

“Sherlock! Would you please try to be a little bit more careful?! Not that I don’t enjoy shooting murderers and patching you up, I do, it makes me nostalgic for the old days when I was still Alpha enough to do such things, but seriously, this time you’ve sustained a life-threatening injury!”

Sherlock stared up at him from his seat at the kitchen table, surprised. “What do you mean…used to be an Alpha−?”

John interrupted, “Sherlock! Don’t try to distract me from my point; I’m talking about you possibly having sustained a serious concussion from throwing yourself off of a warehouse roof into a skip!”

Sherlock said haughtily, “I’ve done it before John; I knew what I was doing. I jumped off the roof of St. Bart’s once, in fact−”

“God, Sherlock! I do not want to hear about that! Where on earth is your Omega sense of self-preservation anyway?!”

This frustrated outburst was met with a stunned silence from them both of them, until Sherlock, his eyes on the floor in front of John’s feet, replied in an icy tone, “I don’t know what you are talking about, John. I should have thought it was obvious, especially to you as a doctor, that I’m not an Omega. I am nothing. And before you start blurting out apologies and pity, let me make something clear to you: I don’t care. I don’t care what you think of me. I don’t care what anyone thinks of me. And if you don’t like living with someone who you so clearly see as a mutant, then you can leave! Just fuck-off John!”

With that, Sherlock rose and strode furiously from the kitchen and down the hall into his bedroom and slammed the door, leaving a surprised John staring after him, holding an ice-pack and a blood-stained flannel.

Sherlock did not re-emerge, so John, deep in thought over what had just occurred, cleaned up the kitchen, prepared a pot of tea, made hot buttered toast and carried a tray to Sherlock’s bedroom door where he set his tray down and knocked quietly.

“What?” came the sulky reply, “Just leave the key on the table, John. Spare me the boring good-byes, please.”

“Sherlock, I’m not leaving−not unless you want me to.” He listened but Sherlock made no reply. So he said, “I’ve made tea. Can we have a truce? I’m worried about your head. May I please look at it?”

The silence dragged out as John waited.

Finally Sherlock said, “You can come in if you want.”

If John wasn’t mistaken there was an unusual tremor in Sherlock’s voice, barely detectable but it caused John even more concern. He opened the door and went in, setting the tea on the nightstand and turning to Sherlock.

“May I examine your head again?”

“If you want to.”

John turned the light on and with gentle hands probed the bump and small cut on Sherlock’s head while Sherlock lay still and quiet.

“Not quite yourself, are you?” asked John, softly. “I know I’m a nuisance, but I need to keep checking you over the next few hours, you know, for concussion symptoms. And you can’t sleep too deeply tonight; I’ll need to wake you up often, alright?”

“Alright...” Sherlock said, and then, his voice barely audible from his pillow, “I’m sorry John…that I told you to fuck-off.”

John grinned. “No worries. It’s not the first time I’ve been told to do that.”

“But…I don’t say things like that, ever, to…people. So, I don’t know why I said it to you. I mean, it’s true that I don’t care if other people think I’m a freak…but you…” He trailed off.

John stroked his curls soothingly. “Sometimes bumps to the head do funny things to our emotions, Sherlock. Try not to worry about it right now. Your head has had enough strain for tonight.”

Sherlock sighed tiredly. “Thank you, John.”

John’s heart swelled with affection. “You’re more than welcome, Sherlock. You rest now. I’ll take care of you.”


	3. May

Warning: reference to past sexual assault

“So. You and Sebastian have a history, Sherlock?”

It was none of his business, of course, and he was treading on thin ice, but John had not liked the smug, oily tones of the investment banker or the sad expression that had fleetingly crossed Sherlock’s face when Sebastian had ridiculed him about his reputation at uni. It was obvious to John that despite Sherlock’s claim that he didn’t care what others thought of him, he did care what Sebastian thought, or at least, he had cared at some point in the past. John had tried to ignore the interaction between the two but it seemed he couldn’t. He felt tense and restless, unable to let it go.

“Stop pacing, John.”

“Sorry, just a bit on edge today for some reason; must be a full moon.” John tried to joke.

Sherlock, eyes staring fixedly into his microscope at the kitchen table, ignored John’s attempt at humour. He was quiet for a moment before he said, “It was a very low point in my life, John. I managed to convince myself that Sebastian’s interest in me was genuine. As it turned out, it wasn’t.” He carefully switched microscope slides and resumed his study. “I learned this one night after I drank a great deal of alcohol and found myself face-down and naked on the commons with Sebastian trying to mount me and yelling and laughing about what a freak I was. Apparently I was not appropriately receptive to him.”

“Jesus, Sherlock!” John went rigid with shock, crossing his arms in front of his chest as if to stop himself from exploding.

“What John?” Sherlock looked up at him calmly. “It was a narrow escape, in hindsight. And I never made that mistake again.”

Studying John’s frozen expression and his shaking fists, now clenched at his sides, Sherlock added, “I told you, John, I am a freak. I may have the anatomy of an Omega but I’ve never felt sexually attracted to anyone, Alpha, Beta or Omega, I don’t have heats and I’m not the slightest bit paternal.” He paused, “Years ago, when I still cared, I tried therapy, but it failed. I accepted then that I am permanently like this." When John didn't respond he said, "It could be worse couldn’t it? It’s quite convenient actually, and certainly less messy.” He quirked an eyebrow at John in mock amusement.

John was controlling his reactions now, to the best of his ability, knowing his rage and the physical aggression he felt toward Sebastian wasn’t helpful at that moment. He breathed deeply and said quietly, “Sherlock, what Sebastian did to you was wrong and cruel, not to mention criminal. It was not your fault, no matter what you think, and it should never have happened to you.”

“Perhaps you’re right John, and your indignation on my behalf is touching, really it is.” He raised the mocking eyebrow again, “But it’s long in the past now. I am happy with my work; and I would be unable to do it if I had the burden of dealing with hormones and heats etcetera. I no longer think or worry about my body, I haven’t done so for years and I like it that way.”

John, although not happy with the conclusion of the conversation, knew he was being warned off, so he said no more, and let the subject drop.


	4. July

“She’s only using you for sex, John. Just like all the other Alphas she’s enticed into fucking her of late, and I can tell you there have been many. She’s trying to make her dominatrix jealous enough to bond with her. You might want to re-think your plans for the evening. She is HPV positive after all.”

“Sherlock!” spluttered John in horror.

“Oh dear! Is she still here? Goodness, how awkward.” Sherlock strolled into the living room and gazed dispassionately at Elizabeth, the subject of his comments, who was sitting, by now rigid with outrage, on the sofa beside John.

“God, your roommate is a dick!” Elizabeth hissed at John, standing and reaching for her bag and coat. “Call me if you ever get rid of the bastard. No, on second thought, don’t call me. Ever again. Both of you can go to hell!”

“I’m sorry, Liz! I really am! We’ll go out. To the pub! Liz, wait!” John rose to follow her but his pleadings were punctuated only by a vigorous slamming of the door and the rapid tread of footsteps going down the stairs. He rounded on Sherlock furiously. “What the hell was that about, Sherlock?!”

To his astonishment, Sherlock struck back at him just as furiously, “I saved you from a diseased whore, John! And you know it! And what’s more I don’t want you bringing any more of her type around here again! She stinks, and I don’t want her or anyone like her contaminating our home!”

John stilled and stared at him in utter shock at this outburst. Sherlock, breathing heavily, suddenly stopped his shouting and stared back at John as though he was just as shocked at what he’d said. Then he turned abruptly to drag open the windows and lean out of the flat as if desperate for air. But not before John caught what he realized, incredulously, was the glimmer of tears in his eyes.

“Sherlock?” he prompted quietly.

Sherlock would not face him; he turned his head only half-way back toward John and said roughly, “I’m sorry John. I…I don’t know why I feel…I mean…why I said what I did.” He sounded stricken. “I won’t ever do it again, of course. I understand that you may date whoever you choose to, I mean, I know it’s none of my business, none at all. I hope that you will forgive me, John. Please don’t be angry with me.” He then pulled his head back in the window and not looking at John, strode to the door, grabbed his coat and left the flat without looking back.

.........................................

John fluffed a sofa cushion aggressively. So his Alpha senses were a little off. He already knew that, that’s why he was making an effort again, trying to regain some of his former prowess. And he would have caught-on, before long, as to just what Liz had been up to. For heaven’s sake that was why he had been sitting in the living room chatting with her and not upstairs in his room, fucking the daylights out of her! Not that he would have been able to figure out about her girlfriend. He grudgingly admitted that he had Sherlock to thank for that. He had no wish to tangle with a jealous dom. He punched another cushion into shape with more force than necessary. He wanted a family, he always had, and he wasn’t getting any younger.

He prowled the flat moodily, picking up objects and putting them down again. Sherlock had been gone too long. John was worried about him; he’d been very upset when he left. But John didn’t know what to do, if anything. He’d hoovered the flat and disposed of the dust bag; washed the floors and laundered the seat covers on their sofa. The windows were still open so the flat was free of any scents other than their own now. Hopefully that would make Sherlock feel better when he came home. He had looked truly ill when he left.

John sighed and decided to make dinner. Sherlock’s appetite had been weak lately, even more so than usual. Perhaps John could tempt him into eating some of his favourite mushroom risotto when he returned.

As he sliced mushrooms, John pondered Sherlock’s odd behaviour. He was mystified as to the cause of Sherlock’s strong aversion to the other Omega’s scent. To his knowledge Sherlock had little or no capacity to scent others at all, although his other senses were very keen. But obviously Liz’s presence had triggered something in him and John was genuinely regretful for upsetting him. Future dates would take place elsewhere. 

He stirred the rice and admitted to himself that he wasn’t sure when any future dates would be. Truth be told, he hadn’t really been interested in Liz, just going through the motions more than anything, hoping she would spark some sort of response in him. The painful truth was that none of the Omegas he’d met since moving in with Sherlock had attracted him. Perhaps Sherlock had been right in his initial assessment of him; his reproductive system was compromised to the point where he would never be able to breed a mate and raise children in the context of a loving family, as he so wanted. 

He wiped a defeated arm over his forehead. Where was Sherlock anyway? The longer he was out, the greater his risk of assault and although he was well able to look after himself ordinarily, tonight he was not in his usual fighting form. And the summer heat always made Alphas more aggressive…

John almost sagged with relief when he heard the soft click of the door latching, signaling Sherlock’s return. He said nothing about his concern though, forcing himself to call casually around the kitchen partition, “Dinner’s ready, have a seat.”

“Um…I’m not hungry John. I…I…ate when I was out. I think I’ll just go to bed now.” He sounded strained. “But thank you. I… I’ll eat it for breakfast.” After that there was silence and John realized that Sherlock had gone straight to his bedroom. He was disappointed but relieved that at least Sherlock was home and safe. Thank God for that.  


John was unable to sleep well at the best of times, and that night, with the added factor of the summer heat, he remained awake. He listened to the sounds of the city; the unceasing murmur of traffic, an occasional shout from a late night pub-goer, even the faint grumbling of pigeons as they jockeyed for position under the eaves of neighbouring buildings, all familiar sounds and all soothing. He’d always loved London. 

His quiet contemplation was interrupted by a startling, unmistakable moan of pain. He knew immediately that it had come from Sherlock’s room and he sat sharply upright, battle ready, straining to hear any other sound. A moan came again this time louder so he scrambled from bed and quickly descended the stairs to knock urgently on Sherlock’s door. 

“Sherlock! What’s wrong?” There were no more sounds from the room although he thought he could detect ragged breathing. 

“Sherlock! If you don’t answer me I’m coming in.”

“No John! Please don’t. Please stay a−” Sherlock’s words were cut off by and agonized groan and the sound of gagging.

“Sorry Sherlock, but I’m coming in!” And with that he thrust open the door. 

John, trained in night maneuvers, spotted Sherlock in the dark immediately. He was lying on the floor, doubled up in pain and squeezing his knees to his abdomen with both arms. Even as John approached him, another spasm of pain took him and he gasped and rocked desperately. He then arched his neck involuntarily, trying to vomit, with nothing but a small amount of fluid emerging from his mouth. 

John, in full crisis mode, knelt on one knee in front of Sherlock, laid a hand on his shoulder and tried to get his attention.

“Sherlock, listen to me, it’s alright, it’s alright, I’m going to help you.” He said firmly, “I need you to work with me, Sherlock.” Sherlock did not respond as he continued, “Are you having trouble breathing, Sherlock? Tell me. Breathe for me, okay?”

He had Sherlock’s attention now so he urged again, “Deep breath okay? Show me you can breathe, Sherlock.”

Sherlock tried to obey, managing a stuttered gulp of air which he then seemed unable to exhale. John rubbed his back, “Breathe out now, Sherlock.” Sherlock obeyed with a sharp exhale. In this manner they continued, John leading Sherlock, coaching him until he was breathing almost normally. As he calmed, Sherlock’s pain seemed to subside leaving him limp and shivering slightly. 

Once he was sure Sherlock was in control of himself again, John asked gently, “Can you tell me where the pain is coming from? And what kind of pain is it Sherlock…stabbing or throbbing or something else? Tell me about it,” he coaxed.

“My lower abdomen,” he whispered, “Cramping pain, John.”

“Okay, good Sherlock. Now what else? You are shivering love, are you feeling cold?”

Sherlock nodded, too exhausted to speak.

John said, “Nauseous too are you? I see you were fibbing when you told me you’d eaten dinner.” He chuckled, “Bet you didn’t expect to get found out about that, did you?”

Sherlock shook his head weakly, docile now and trusting John to take care of him.

John turned serious. “Sherlock, I suspect the cramping will begin again soon. I’m going to get you a muscle relaxant and a hot water bottle, alright?” Seeing Sherlock’s pleading expression, he reassured him gently, “I won’t be gone long, I promise. And I want you to let me help you into bed before I go upstairs. But first, were you trying to get to the loo?”

Sherlock nodded again.

“Okay, I’ll help you.” 

He assisted Sherlock to stand and guided him to the loo. Sherlock seemed steady enough to be left alone so John shut the door to give him some privacy. Sherlock emerged a short time later, looking pale and strained and he leaned heavily on John as he was assisted into bed. John then collected the muscle relaxant and quickly prepared a hot water bottle. He gave both to a still shivering Sherlock, along with a full drink of water and began to rub his back for him, hoping he would fall asleep before the next wave of cramps hit. To his relief Sherlock did and John, sitting beside him, a light hand on his back allowed himself to think; severe cramps, temperature spike resulting in a sensation of being cold, difficulty urinating due to internal swelling, lack of appetite and nausea…

He’d seen every symptom before; starting with his Omega sister Harriet, at age 13.

Sherlock, at 35 years of age, appeared to be in full-blown Omega puberty.


	5. August

“I wish you’d stop fussing over me like someone’s maiden aunt, John! I told you I am fine. There is nothing wrong with me!” 

“Alright, alright Sherlock!”

Sherlock had been entirely his usual self since the episode in the night in July. In fact, he had arisen from his bed the morning following, perfectly perky himself but declaring that John looked terrible and demanding to know why he wasn’t taking better care of himself. When John cautiously asked him about the events of the previous night, Sherlock dismissed his concern, looking only slightly abashed, and informed John that he had merely gotten a bit too much sun while out walking and that was all. And that’s thanks for you, John had thought, hiding a grin, simply relieved to see that Sherlock appeared unaffected by his night-time ordeal. 

John had spent a long night beside Sherlock, his hand on Sherlock’s back, thinking over the situation and trying to decide what he should do, if anything. He was certain that Sherlock was sexually maturing as an Omega at last, for some reason; John himself could sense it now that he was alerted to the possibility. 

If Sherlock didn’t realize it though, should John tell him? If he did say something, what if he was wrong or if no further developments occurred? He would have upset Sherlock and perhaps strained their relationship for no good reason. If on the other hand he didn’t say anything and Sherlock was suddenly blind-sided by it in the future, the outcome could be devastating for him. He’d been pretty clear that he didn’t want any part of a typical Omega reproductive cycle. 

By the time dawn had broken and John had left Sherlock’s room to crawl, exhausted, back into his own bed, he had resolved to say nothing. Instead he would keep a close eye on Sherlock and be prepared to deal with any developments as they arose. Reproductive cycles were difficult enough to predict in young Omegas, so John had no idea how Sherlock’s late development might manifest itself. 

The result of John’s decision, apparently, was that Sherlock felt he was being ‘mother hen-ed’. Well, he probably is thought John ruefully, but his concern was so strong that he had difficulty backing off. However, on this afternoon, in the interests of giving Sherlock some space, he bid him a casual good-bye and took himself off on a quick trip to the shops. He’d pick up some creamed honey for their tea. He had discovered that Sherlock had a fondness for it and he knew they were out. 

He was gone only a short time but once back and climbing the stairs, about half way up, he was struck full force with a powerful physical hit; an Omega in heat. And afraid. And not just any Omega, his Omega. His beloved Sherlock was alone and in distress, desperately needing his Alpha; it was all there, all the information John needed was in the pungent air. He dropped the shopping on the stairs, unaware he was doing so, and bolted up to the flat’s door. He banged through it, following the scent straight to the loo. The door was locked, but he didn’t knock, he put his good shoulder against it and shoved. It splintered under the force of his thrust as he’s known it would. As it shattered, he heard a shrill scream of terror from Sherlock behind it, which only aroused him further. 

John, unaware he was growling aggressively, raked the small room with narrowed eyes; the defence and protection of his frightened Omega the only thing in his mind. Sherlock, crouched in the corner of the room, trying to hide behind the toilet, was beyond terrified now. He was weeping in fear, tears running down his cheeks; his pupils black and wide, face flushed and body trembling violently. 

“No, no, no John! Please no! Please John don’t!” he begged. 

Chest heaving and struggling to calm himself now that he knew there was no direct threat to Sherlock, John rasped out, “Don’t what? What Sherlock!?”

“Don’t hurt me! Don’t John, please!”

Reason returning slowly, John began to back away from Sherlock, despite every instinct telling him he should to go to him. Confusion was muddling his mind and he shook his head in an effort to clear it. 

He rasped hoarsely, “I’m not. I won’t. Of course not. I’d never hurt you Sherlock, never!”

“Yes, you would, you want to, and I know it! You do! You do, John!”

Sherlock clutched his head and lowered it to his knees, squirming in discomfort. His trousers were damp and stained with what John knew was his natural lubricant, as was his shirt with perspiration and tears. He sobbed now, great broken gulps of anguish, his shoulders heaving and his body shaking, still wedged between the toilet and the wall. 

John’s heart broke at the sight of him. “Sherlock, no! No, I wasn’t going to hurt you, I swear it. I’m sorry I frightened you; I thought you were in danger, that’s all. I’m sorry. I love you, Sherlock! I would never hurt you!”

“That’s not true!” Sherlock cried, his head wedged between his knees. “I can tell, I can tell you want to hurt me. I heard you. I saw your face. I can smell you John. I know you want to fuck me, breed me! Don’t lie to me! I can tell!”

John flinched at Sherlock’s accusations but stood still. He said as calmly as he could, “Sherlock, it’s true that I am an Alpha. And that I do want to be your Alpha. I do want you, very much; I cannot hide that from you. That is why you can sense it. But it does not mean I’m going to hurt you or force myself on you, or take advantage of you. I’m standing perfectly still. If you look you’ll see it’s just me. Just John.” He waited before coaxing again, “Look at me Sherlock.”

“No! I’m afraid of you John!”

“I know, I know you are. But just look at me. Look Sherlock.”

Something in John’s voice reached Sherlock in his dark place and he slowly raised his face, his eyes searching John’s. 

He stared, his expression twisted with conflicting emotions. Then he whispered, “I want you John. I need you. Please.”

“Yes, good Sherlock.” John soothed, “Listen to your instinct, trust it, Sherlock, your body knows what it needs and wants, stay with it, Sherlock.” Then, unable to stop himself, he so desperately wanted to comfort him; John made a slight gesture toward Sherlock, as if to approach him.

Sherlock recoiled and cried out, “No! Don’t touch me! Get away, get away! 

Suddenly, he lunged at John with speed and power, knocking him over, and flew to the front door, scrambling and tripping in his haste to reach it.

“NO, Sherlock!! NO! Don’t go out, it’s not safe for you! Don't! Please!”

Sherlock turned, his mouth twisting bitterly, “Safe John?! What do you care about my safety?! You knew this would happen, didn’t you?! And you hid it from me! You let me think it was sunstroke! Didn’t you? Didn’t you?” and then, when John's mouth opened but no sound emerged, Sherlock demanded again, “Answer me!” 

“Yes, but−”

Sherlock interrupted, beside himself with anger and fear, “You thought you could breed me and enslave me, didn’t you?! That’s why you didn't tell me!” He then turned and wrenched at the door handle, frantic to get away from John.

John, who had picked himself up during Sherlock’s tirade, launched himself at Sherlock with all his strength to try to stop him, knowing that leaving the flat would be disastrous, even fatal, for Sherlock in his present condition as an unprotected, virgin Omega in heat. But Sherlock anticipated him, kicking at him with a lightning-fast foot that shot John across the room to where he banged his head against the skirting board and lay still.

Horrified at what he’d done, Sherlock wailed, “John?! John?!” 

Fortunately, John was not seriously hurt. He rose again almost immediately, blinking and shaking his head to face Sherlock once more.

Sherlock, with a chaotic agony of emotions and physical sensations coursing through him that he had no capacity to deal with, turned and fled the flat.


	6. August Cont.

Warning for graphic sexual violence and deadly violence

John, dizzy and ears ringing from the blow to his head, stumbled to the table where he leaned over it, willing his head to clear. Breathing deeply, he began to focus his mind and ready himself for battle. He could not fail now; his will, his courage and his training must distill in this moment. So with ruthless determination, he stripped his mind of insecurity, pain and bitterness and let his Alpha identity take firm hold. Then, thrusting himself away from the table, he ran up the stairs to his room and pulled his pistol from his nightstand. He secured it under his belt at his back as he ran down the stairs and from the flat to follow Sherlock.

He knew that tracking Sherlock wouldn’t be difficult; Sherlock's scent would be strong in the hot, still air of late afternoon in the city. John caught it immediately and began to follow it, moving quickly but preserving energy; Sherlock in his adrenaline fueled panic would be able to cover a long distance in a short amount of time and John must be able to follow him for at least a mile or perhaps farther.

Then, just two blocks from the flat, John’s worst fears were realized; two unknown Alphas had obviously caught Sherlock’s scent and were now following him. And Sherlock’s scent was no stronger than it had been outside the flat, so John knew he was still not close to him. He ran steadily onward. Sherlock’s route was clearly a panic flight; it showed none of his usual brilliant mapping or strategy. It was easy for John to follow but easy for predators as well.

Another three blocks into the chase and to John’s further alarm, two more Alphas had joined the first two. They were running together so they were obviously known to each other. They had probably coordinated with their mobiles. So this was to be a gang-rape then; recreation not procreation, John thought grimly. John couldn’t afford to hold back now, so he began to sprint. He was getting closer, but was still not close enough.

If John was to be in time, he had to learn where the attack would take place, he couldn’t simply follow the group any longer; he had to go straight to where it would happen. He scanned for likely locations; narrow allies, hidden doorways, but no…it would have to be somewhere where they wouldn’t be heard; flats had windows open in this heat, so it would have to be somewhere else…where would four Alphas drag an Omega for uninterrupted sport?

As he was assessing the surroundings with single-minded determination, he suddenly became aware that Sherlock had started to strategize to save himself. He would have known he was being hunted; as his panic receded, his Omega instinct would have told him that. And he was now trying to turn around and go back to the flat. And what’s more, Sherlock knew that John was coming for him. John wasn’t sure how he, himself, knew this, but he didn’t question it, he simply rejoiced; Sherlock was beginning to trust himself and let his instinct guide him. He was starting to function as one-half of a whole; he and his other half, his Alpha, John.

John knew the place when he saw it and ran. It was a portion of tube line, covered at one end and barricaded off for repair. Access to it was between two shops, now closed for the day.  
  
He was right, he scented them as he approached; three aroused Alphas, drunk with aggression and excitement and Sherlock afraid, yes, but angry too, fighting for his life. John jumped the barricade and landed on the line to see the group up ahead, under the overhang. One of Sherlock’s attackers was dead, his neck broken, but the other three had Sherlock surrounded. The tallest one was belting Sherlock’s wrists together behind his back and forcing him to his knees. A second shorter one was bending forward to leer in his face; as John watched, this Alpha got too close and Sherlock delivered him a head-butt which knocked him onto his back, almost unconscious. A third heavy-set man, who had been standing to one side watching, grinned with amusement. He then said something to the Alpha holding Sherlock and pulled his fully erect cock out of his trousers. He moved to confront Sherlock who hissed and growled something which John could not hear.  
  
The tall Alpha holding Sherlock down struck a blow to the side of Sherlock’s head, hard enough to subdue him but not knock him out and said, “Now, don’t be like that, Omega. Ed just wants to introduce himself to you. He wants you to get to know him a little better, he’s friendly that way.”  
  
He then gripped Sherlock’s hair and forced his face up to Ed’s cock while pinching Sherlock’s nostrils closed with his other hand. Ed gripped the base of his cock and eagerly readied himself to thrust into Sherlock’s mouth when Sherlock would be forced to open it to gasp for breath.  
  
Sherlock fought hard, even half-conscious, but he was not able to escape the fingers in his hair or the knee pressed to the back of his neck. His captor laughed and crooned in his ear, “Listen Omega, I told you, you’ll just have to make do with us, ‘cause your ‘John’ isn’t here, is he?”  
  
“Yes he is,” said John, now within feet of them, and raised his pistol to shoot Ed in the stomach. And when Ed lurched back under the force of the bullet and looked up at John in bewildered surprise, John shot him again, this time in the forehead.  
  
The Alpha holding Sherlock was next; shot through the ear as he stared incredulously at his friend, now lying with his trousers still down but dead on his back in front of Sherlock. The short Alpha who had risen after Sherlock hit him, to masturbate and watch his friend in Sherlock’s mouth, didn’t attempt to run; he knew he was dead even before he looked up from Sherlock and into John’s narrowed eyes. He dropped his hand from his cock, and his mouth, which had been slack with pleasure, only had time to form a small round ‘o’ of protest before John shot him between the eyes.

Sherlock, semi-conscious from the blow to his head, slumped sideways as his captor’s hand fell away. But by then, pistol placed on the gravel beside them, John was there to catch him before he could hit the tracks. Even barely conscious, Sherlock knew he was home. His body sagged against John and he sighed softly, his eyelids flickering momentarily before closing against his pale cheeks. 

“We can’t stay here, my love. I know you’re tired but we must get to somewhere safe as quickly as possible. It’s still very dangerous for you, Sherlock. Will you come with me?”

“Yes, John.” Sherlock murmured, his face pressed against John’s chest. “I’m sorry, John. I understand now. I love you. I wanted to live so that I could tell you I love you.”

John’s eyes filled and he hugged Sherlock close. He whispered down to him, “It’s alright, sweetheart. This is very difficult for you, I know. And I love you too; more than anything, Sherlock.”


	7. August Cont.

John untied the belt imprisoning Sherlock’s wrists and rubbed his hands for him to get their circulation back. While he was working, Sherlock sat still and quiet where he had settled, almost on John’s lap. When John was done and was once more supporting him in a hug, Sherlock’s eyes flickered open and he raised his head to stare at John. His body was heavy and pliant and he blinked several times as if to try to focus his vision. “John…I...want you. Now. I need you.” He closed his eyes as a tremor shook his body. John could feel wet heat spreading where Sherlock rested against his thigh. And dear God, the surge of arousal that coursed through John in response to it, and Sherlock’s whispered plea, swept almost every vestige of rational thought from John’s mind. He began to pant and shake under the force of his desire. Trying to fight it off, he sucked in a deep breath of air and gripped Sherlock’s face with both hands. “Open your eyes, Sherlock,” he urged.

Sherlock obeyed and tried to focus on John, but his gaze slid away once more. He whispered, almost to himself, “No clothes. Make a soft place, John. Lie with me. Here, where I can smell the blood of the Alphas you killed and know you’re strong…”

John inhaled sharply and went rigid. “Sherlock!” he choked hoarsely. He drew in a ragged breath to steady himself. “Not now. We must get you away from here. Please, will you do as I say?”

Sherlock struggled for alertness. “Yes, John,” he managed.

“Alright. I’m going to help you to under the shelter where I want you to stay while I get a bin-bag from the shop-front. Then, I’m sorry, but you must change your clothes. You smell fantastic, you really do, but we need to mask it as best we can right now. I will give you my pants and shirt but I want you to put on a pair of the dead men's trousers. I’m sorry. It’s the only way. Mine won’t fit you. It will be for just a short time, alright?”

Sherlock was uncaring of the trousers. “You are leaving, John? Where? Will I still be able to smell and sense you?”

John smiled. “Yes, love, it’s not far,” he pointed to the closest shop.

Sherlock nodded and began to rise to his feet. John settled him in the covered corner and jogged to where bags full of the day’s rubbish from the shops were stacked on the pavement. He pulled one from the stack and emptied its contents into a cardboard box. Turning, he jogged back to where the taller Alpha he’d shot lay slumped on the tracks. He rolled him and pulled his trousers off. His motions were clinical and precise; for John the situation was no different from the battle field. He had accomplished the mission and now his priority was the safe extraction of the innocent from the war zone. He would do whatever was required to ensure that happened.

He returned to Sherlock, whose eyes had not left him, and reached out his hand. Sheltering him from CCTV view, John undressed him. First his shirt was removed and stuffed into the plastic bag, then John shed his own shirt and buttoned it onto Sherlock, rolling the cuffs back to disguise the too-short sleeves. Now in just his vest, John quickly stripped his own trousers and pants, replacing his trousers again but helping Sherlock gently out of his wet and stained clothes and into John’s pants and the replacement trousers. The belt was used to secure the too large waist around Sherlock.

With Sherlock’s clothes in the plastic bag, along with his pistol, John tied it off tightly and tucked it under his arm. He brushed the sand and gravel from Sherlock’s hair, concerned that there was nothing he could do to disguise the bruising beginning to appear on his face and neck. But at least Sherlock was acceptably clean and dry; enough so that a cabbie wouldn’t refuse to pick them up. And there was no question that it must be a cab; even if the risk of aggression from other Alphas hadn’t been a problem, Sherlock was too weak to walk or use public transport.

Moving at a pace slow enough for him to manage, John guided Sherlock out of the lay-by and to the main road. He wasn’t concerned about the carnage they left behind; he knew Mycroft would ensure that nothing would be attributed to them. It was unfortunate that Mycroft would learn of his younger brother’s new Omega status in this manner, but there was nothing to be done about it.

John hailed the first passing cabbie, who pulled over and accepted them into the back seat with barely a glance, to John’s relief. They appeared as simply a tired couple headed home, slightly under-dressed and dishevelled at the end of a sweltering August day.


	8. August Cont.

Dusk was turning to velvet darkness as the cab drew up in front of the flat. Sherlock had rested against John during the ride home, frequently nuzzling and pressing his face to John’s neck, gaining comfort from his nearness. The same was true for John, who was reassured by Sherlock’s contented touch. Nevertheless, he remained highly alert, scanning their surroundings for the slightest indication of danger. He would relax only when they were once more in the safety of their home. 

“C’mon sweetheart, let’s get you upstairs where I can check your injuries and patch you up if you need it, alright?”

Sherlock nodded and climbed out of the cab but as John had known he would be, he was almost too exhausted to climb the stairs to the flat. John half carried him the final few steps and through the door. At least Sherlock hadn’t suffered another episode of heat-fueled sexual desperation since he’d run from the flat, which pleased John who wanted him to be able to sleep and not have to struggle more with the unfamiliar sensations of a heat and the frightening loss of control over his own body.

“Would you like a bath, Sherlock? I can help you wash and we’ll see where you’re hurt.”

Sherlock nodded, so John assisted him to the bathroom. John turned the water on to fill the tub and began to undress Sherlock; his clothes would join the others in the trash bag. John would remove his pistol from the bag for cleaning later and toss the rest of the contents in the bin.

Dirt smudged, bruised and with his usual vitality noticeably absent, Sherlock displayed an unusual vulnerability; his movements were cautious and his manner halting; like someone awakening to find their old body had been replaced by a strange new one with no familiar features. He sank up to his neck in the warm water and rested his head back against the tub with closed eyes. John knelt beside the tub and with soap, started at the top of Sherlock’s head where he would work his way down in his search for injuries. He noted a bruised forehead and temple; pain in Sherlock’s left shoulder from fighting his restraints−John frowned angrily remembering the sight of Sherlock being bound and forced to his knees−and tenderness in his lower abdomen where there was a large red mark, possibly from a boot...

Here John hesitated in his examination. Below the kick mark, he could see Sherlock growing erect rapidly and obviously becoming aroused; he arched his back and twisted his body restlessly, murmuring “John…” in a tone that, had John not already been on his knees, would most certainly have put him there. 

“John, please...” Sherlock’s second breathy plea almost undid John completely. 

“What is it?” he asked, his voice thick, “What do you need Sherlock?” 

“You. Inside me. Deep inside. To fill the emptiness, John.”

“Oh God, Sherlock. I want you too. You know I do! But after what you’ve been through today…this isn’t a good time.”

Sherlock groaned in frustration and turned away, bringing his knees to his chest in a tight clench. “Why not, John?!” he begged, “What is wrong with now?!”

John, torn between concern for Sherlock and fighting his own fiery desire, whispered, “I gave you my word Sherlock that I wouldn't take advantage of you and I intend to keep it." He breathed deeply, "Let me pour some cold water into the bath and get you a cool flannel. It will help you feel better. And it’s okay to touch yourself if you want to, you never have before, I know, but it’s okay to do it, almost everyone does at some time.” ...not that it will help me tonight, John thought, I could wank all night and in the morning still fuck you senseless, my beautiful, perfect Sherlock…

Even though Sherlock was facing the wall, John could see his expression was unhappy. His heart clenched painfully, “Sherlock?” he asked.

“I don’t know what to do, John…” he said in a humiliated whisper, refusing to look up.

“Well, I don’t think you need any first-aid, so why don’t I help you to your bed? Being in heat is nothing shameful, in fact, you are very, very beautiful right now, Sherlock but I understand that it’s upsetting you. Your bed room is private and I think you’ll feel more comfortable there. I’ll get you the cold cloths.” 

Sherlock still would not look at him but started to rise from the bath tub so John helped him out. He wrapped him in towels, forcing away thoughts of what Sherlock’s clean, warm skin might feel like under his own eager hands…what Sherlock would taste like on his tongue... Dear Lord, how he wanted to find out! He could smell and almost taste Sherlock's hot scent, he was so close. It would be so easy to close the small distance between them and have what was his. Sherlock would not protest if John were to bend him over his bed now and take him; in his present state he’d welcome John in. John wouldn’t be rough, of course, but he would make sure that no one, especially Sherlock, would ever be able to question who Sherlock belonged to. God, John was a fool to be so noble! 

But as quickly as the wave of Alpha aggression hit John, it eased. In Sherlock’s bedroom, he was able to pull Sherlock’s sheets over him with careful hands and say something soothing to him in a voice that almost didn’t shake.

“Will you stay with me John, please?” Sherlock’s voice was ragged and his breathing shallow. 

John hesitated, unsure of the limits of his self-control. He’d never been tested to this extent before. But he sat down beside Sherlock on the bed and heard himself say, “Yes, of course if you want me to.”

Sherlock didn’t respond. He was struggling to pull his sheets off, already too hot to bear anything covering him. Once free of the restricting bedding, almost panting now, he spread his thighs and awkwardly grasped his cock. He tugged at himself in frustration, wincing at his own roughness but almost too desperate for relief to care.

“Sherlock, shhh, shhh, easy, love, easy,” crooned John, alarmed at Sherlock’s treatment of himself. He hummed in Sherlock’s ear, trying to relax him, “Try slow and firm movements, and stroke the other way, down toward the base of your cock.” 

As he watched Sherlock’s efforts to pleasure himself, John concentrated with all his might on maintaining a physician’s objectiveness. But by God how he, John the man, not the doctor, wanted Sherlock like this! He’d press those thighs apart himself, kneel between them and swallow Sherlock down his throat. John groaned inwardly, Sherlock’s cock was so very beautiful, small and delicate, even for an Omega and John could easily fit him in his mouth. He’d give him pleasure such as Sherlock had never dreamed of... 

Sherlock was straining and pushing his hips up off the bed now, frantically rubbing himself and whimpering in need. “John!” he begged.

“Relax, Sherlock and breathe. Slow down, pay attention to where your hand feels best. Try holding the base of your cock with one hand and rubbing with the fingers of your other hand just below the head. Use firm pressure, like you’re giving a massage. That will eliminate the friction on your skin.”

Sherlock obeyed John’s instructions and groaned, throwing back his head and sucking in air with a gasp. “John! Oh God, John, touch me, please!” His eyes flew open and he sought John’s for the first time since the bath. John, unprepared for his gaze and the bolt of blue lightning that burned through every defense he had erected, answered Sherlock’s call by gathering him close and beginning to roughly kiss his open mouth. He held and kissed Sherlock firmly, breathing in the deep groan of Sherlock’s climax and capturing his writhing body as he came.

Sherlock moaned and shook once more in John’s arms. A warm slick of lubricant, sweet scented and seductive, flowed over John’s fore arm where he was cradling Sherlock on his lap. It was so potent and compelling that it caused John to tremble and cling to him, groaning helplessly and delving deeply into Sherlock’s mouth with his own. When he finally pulled away it was to pant heavily in Sherlock’s ear, “Oh God, Sherlock! God, I want you so badly!”

“Yes! Yes! Please, John!” 

Something wasn't right...as John held him, rather than relaxing, Sherlock's body stiffened and his emotions began to tear at him again. He curled into a ball in John’s lap and sobbed. “I don’t feel well. It aches, John, I’m empty and alone…Please help me!”

“Shhh, shhh, I’ll hold you. It’s alright. It’s just hormones, Sherlock. It will pass quickly, I promise, it will pass, my love.” 

Dear God! On top of everything else, why would Sherlock have to be stricken now with an episode of Post-orgasmic Tristesse, of all things! 

Sherlock’s instincts were right, if John had been fully penetrating him when he orgasmed, Sherlock would be feeling much differently right now; not empty and unhappy but full, warm and loved… This could be easily addressed if they were to become mates but it wasn’t much help now… 

John did what he could to ease Sherlock’s discomfort. He rocked him, applied as much pressure as he could against his entrance, holding his buttocks tightly, and murmured comfort and reassurance into his ear, all the while praying he’d fall asleep quickly, exhausted as he must be from his grueling day. And sure enough, it wasn’t long before his breathing evened out and he went limp in John’s arms. John eased his lax body under the sheets and settled beside him to keep watch until he too fell asleep, sometime near morning.


	9. August Cont.

John woke to find it was mid-morning. His first awareness was of Sherlock beside him, his head resting against John’s shoulder and his hand on John's arm as if reassuring himself of John’s presence. Even as John struggled to full wakefulness he knew that Sherlock’s heat was over. For a first heat it wasn’t unusual that it had been short, only about 12 hours. As the months went by, if Sherlock’s development followed the usual Omega pattern, his heats would gradually extend to as long as three days. But mercifully, this first one had been short. 

John watched the slow rise and fall of Sherlock’s chest for a few moments, allowing himself to enjoy the sweet relief that welled up in him at the picture of Sherlock, safe and relaxed after yesterday’s nightmare ordeal. 

He wanted nothing more than, after drinking his fill of Sherlock sleeping peacefully, to kiss him awake and make tender love to him for the rest of day, maybe even through the next night as well. But he must not. He must allow Sherlock, when he awoke, the time and space he would need to reflect on his experiences of yesterday. Sherlock would feel much differently about everything today, without hormones and wild emotions pulling him in opposing directions. So John would back away now and give him the freedom he needed to adjust to his new identity.

So John rose quietly; he showered and dressed and made his way to the kitchen to make tea, boil eggs and toast bread. Sherlock hadn’t eaten since early the previous day and would need sustenance when he woke up. 

John did not wait for long. Within minutes of John putting the kettle on to boil, Sherlock appeared in the kitchen, his black curls a wild mess and his dressing gown tie-belt trailing behind him. 

“John?”

“Yes, right here Sherlock.” John turned from pouring boiling water into the tea pot to smile at him, firmly repressing the jolt of desire that flared in his belly at the sight of him. “You must be hungry,” he said.

“No, I’m not. Why did you leave, John?”

“Oh, you know, just to get going with breakfast and things.” John waved his hand vaguely. “Have a seat anyway and eat something, will you? There’s some of your favourite honey here.” Mrs. Hudson, bless her, had retrieved the shopping that John had dropped on the stairs yesterday and left it on their counter for them.

Sherlock looked confused and anxious. “But I thought we−” he stopped, “I mean…I hoped you might lie-in with me.”

John sat down at the table. “Sherlock,” he said gently, “You experienced a life-changing event yesterday and it was very emotional for you. We need to think carefully before acting on anything that we may have said or done yesterday.”

Sherlock's face twisted as he sank into the chair across from John. He whispered, “Are you saying that you didn’t mean it when you said you loved me…and wanted me, John?”

“No! God no!” John leaned forward to grip his hands, “That isn’t what I meant at all! I love you very much Sherlock, more than ever, and make no mistake, I want you, badly!” He explained urgently, “It’s just that I think you need some time to figure things out, to get used to how things are different for you now. People often change their minds about important things during a personal crisis−”

Sherlock cut him off to ask incredulously, “You think I’ll change my mind about you?!”

John said softly, “I’m saying emotions are in flux on occasions like what happened yesterday and I want you to feel free to sort through all of them before we decide to change anything about our relationship…”

Sherlock was silent for a long moment studying John, before he agreed slowly, “Alright…if you say so, John.”

“Good.” John smiled again and squeezed Sherlock’s hands before saying, “Have a cup of tea and let’s check the email to see if there are any new cases.”


	10. September

It was more of a struggle for John than he had thought it would be, to hide his almost over-powering desire for Sherlock. But he had managed it. Sherlock himself had been quietly agreeable and had not brought up the subject of their relationship since the discussion in the kitchen two weeks previously−although John had caught Sherlock looking at him speculatively several times. This however, he put down to Sherlock simply adjusting to Alpha/Omega interpersonal dynamics, which were new to him.

Sherlock’s health was excellent, he had healed quickly and appeared to have adapted well to the physical changes in his body. In fact, as a now mature Omega, he was magnificent with his glossy curls, glowing skin and lithe body. Just looking at him made John start to shake with desire. John was so affected by his nearness that he had to be constantly vigilant to keep his distance for fear of saying or doing something that would ruin his efforts to respect Sherlock’s space. But given the obvious improvements in Sherlock’s wellbeing, John considered the effort worthwhile.

It came a shock therefore, for John to hear Sherlock, unexpectedly one morning after breakfast, address him from the sofa in a voice cold with scorn. “You know what I think John?! I think you’re all talk and no action! But, as it happens, I don’t care anymore. I’ve thought about it and I’ve realized I have other options. I don’t need to put up with you stringing me along. I can have any Alpha I want now. In fact, I could send a text right now and Sebastian would be over here inside of 10 seconds!”

John, sitting at the table composing a shopping list, jerked his head up in time to see Sherlock reach for his mobile as if to send a text. Sherlock never made it. John sprang from his seat, his face contorted with fury, and launched himself across the room in a violent tackle to flatten Sherlock onto his back on the sofa seat where he sat astride him and pinned his shoulders to the cushions with painful pressure. His eyes bored into Sherlock’s and he hissed, “Go ahead Sherlock! Do it! And while you’re at it, add a P.S. from me to Sebastian Wilkes…” John spat out the name, “…letting him know that it will be his last 10 seconds on earth, because I’ll blow his head off before he gets in the door of the flat, the bastard!”

John, breathing hard, dug his fingers into Sherlock’s arms and growled down at him, “Don’t be a fool, Sherlock! You want your face in the rug with Sebastian grunting like a barn animal while he tears your arse apart?! You’re a virgin Sherlock, do you have any idea what that will feel like?!”

Sherlock, looking up at John, said nothing. He lay motionless while John glared down at him and demanded, “Well, Sherlock?! Answer me! Is that your choice?! If so, I’m out of here, I’ll pack now and be gone in five minutes!” At this threat, Sherlock jolted to life. He stiffened and clutched John’s arms with both hands and blurted out in panic, “No! No, John! That’s not what I want. I only want you! Please! I want you, so badly! It’s killing me, John, the thought that maybe you don’t want me after all! Why are you rejecting me? Why won’t you just take me, make me yours, John?! Why?!”

John went rigid, his hostile expression giving way to one of horror. “Oh God. Sherlock. What you just said about Wilkes was all nonsense wasn't it? You said it deliberately, didn’t you? Just to see if I’d be jealous.” When Sherlock nodded, John loosened his grip and dropped his forehead to Sherlock’s, stricken. “I’m sorry Sherlock, I’m so sorry!” he whispered, his voice full of agonized regret, “I shouldn’t have said or done what I did just now! You must know I would never leave you! Will you forgive me? Please!”

Tears were beginning to slide from the corners of Sherlock’s eyes. He sniffed. “It’s okay John, but I don’t understand you! I really don’t!”

John pressed anxious kisses to Sherlock’s eyes before cupping his face in his hands with infinite gentleness, “I know you don’t, and that’s partly why...I’m…holding back, Sherlock. Before we can be together, we need to understand each other better. What’s between us has to be about more than just a desire for hot sex. Understanding and partnership take time to develop.”

“Then let’s work on it John! You won’t even try! You keep pushing me away and pretending there’s nothing between us!”

John looked away and then back. He said hesitantly, “Sherlock, it’s because I don’t know...” He halted, “I mean I want you to bond with me not because your body is driving you to do it, although I enjoy the knowledge of that very much, and not because you are afraid and want protection from other Alphas. I am willing to protect you always, regardless of whether we are mated or not. What I want is for you to be with me just because you love me, Sherlock. I hoped that when you were comfortable with your new identity you might start to sort those things out…”

Sherlock was looking up at him, obviously listening and rapidly processing what he was saying, so John took another chance and bared his soul. “I want to know that you trust me Sherlock, absolutely, not only with your own life but with the lives of our offspring, our children, if we have them. I want you to believe without doubt, that if you become pregnant, I will provide safety and security for you and your baby. It’s a vulnerable time for an Omega and I need to know that you trust me absolutely and completely, to take care of you both.”

John faltered, “I...I know I’m thinking farther ahead than you have probably, but…but…that’s the way I am, I guess, I…I’m sort of old-fashioned…”

John sat up straight and looked at the floor; Sherlock had made it clear he didn’t feel paternal at all…and now John had revealed everything…he shouldn’t have. He’d meant to give Sherlock more time…

He waited anxiously for Sherlock to react.

When he did, Sherlock’s voice was low and husky in his ear. “But John, I’ve already thought about all of those things. I do love you and trust you unreservedly, I thought you knew that.” He was staring at John, puzzled and added almost to himself. “I thought it was obvious, so obvious…and that you had recognized it as I did…”

“What? Recognized what?” John was confused.

“Why this is all happening, John. Why I changed. Why I matured as an Omega. Really, it’s so glaringly obvious, John.” Sherlock sounded taken aback by John’s dimness.

“Uh… alright. Well, maybe you should explain it to me then,” suggested John cautiously.

“The reason is you, John. I was waiting for you, although I didn’t know it at the time. I’ve been waiting for you for 25 years, John. And now that you’ve arrived and I’m ready for you I just don’t see any reason to continue waiting.”

He was thoughtful for a moment before smiling benevolently at John, “However, clearly you don’t have the same level of insight into our relationship that I have. I'm obviously rushing you. I can see that you need more time to adjust. We can wait for as long as you want. I’ll wait for you for as long as I need to, John.” Sherlock settled back on the sofa contentedly. “But I liked you tackling me. Can you do it again? And then kiss me. Is that too much or would that be alright, John?”

John, looking down at him, smiled. He took a long look at Sherlock lying on his back, knees raised, grinning at John, his fingers playing absently with the hem of John’s shirt which had come untucked during his wild dive onto Sherlock. John could see many things; innocence, confidence, wisdom, a trace of smug self-satisfaction, but most evident of all, deep love in Sherlock’s face as he stared back.  
  
He stilled Sherlock’s restless hands with his own and said slowly, “You are right Sherlock, I should have listened to you sooner.” He squeezed Sherlock’s fingers, “If I was any good at being your Alpha I would listen to you and accept your wisdom as equal to mine. I was being patronizing and for that I’m sorry. From now on we are partners, different but equal in this relationship.”  
  
“If that’s your way of saying you want me naked and in bed, John, then I accept.” He smirked at John.  
  
John grinned back and rose from the edge of the sofa. Still holding Sherlock’s hands, he tugged him up and growled, “Then get! Into bed now!”  
  
He saw Sherlock almost shiver in delight at his order. He chuckled and began to push Sherlock gently down the hall and into the bedroom where he followed and closed the door behind them.

 


	11. September Cont.

“We can’t bond until you are in heat, Sherlock, but starting the process now will prepare your body, and mine too, for when the time to bond does come.” 

“Yes, John, I want that.” Sherlock’s voice had taken on its dreamy quality again, the one that John had last heard when they were in the tube lay-by. John smiled softy at him and eased him backward onto his bed, encouraging him, with a light hand on his chest, to lay still. He could see and sense lethargy stealing over Sherlock already, a natural physiological response to the presence of an acceptable Alpha close by, wanting to mate. Had John not been in control of his Alpha aggression, this instinctive Omega response would have calmed him and prevented him from attacking and possibly hurting his mating partner. 

John stroked Sherlock’s hair back from his forehead and gazed down at him, his expression conveying the depth of his love for Sherlock and also the wonder he felt at Sherlock’s acceptance of him as a mate. Sherlock looked back at him before his eye lids slid shut and he sighed. He tried to lift a limp arm to his shirt buttons, obviously wanting to undo them, but his coordination had left him. 

“John.” he breathed.

“Do you want me to take your clothes off, my love?”

Sherlock roused himself enough to say, “…and yours too, John,” before subsiding again. 

John hated to remove his hand from Sherlock’s chest, for their pair connection was already starting to form, he could sense it through his palm. But somehow he managed, switching hands when needed, to pull his own clothes off as well as Sherlock’s. His heart began to pound at the sight of Sherlock naked and receptive before him. How many times had he relived the experience of that night two weeks ago when he had first seen Sherlock naked and wanting? Now he could touch him as he had wanted, at last! 

John eased himself on top of Sherlock, holding Sherlock’s hands still with his own and locking their mouths together. He offered deep, slow kisses while he gradually introduced his, by now, fully erect cock to Sherlock’s body. A touch of it against Sherlock’s side and his eyes flew open and he involuntarily winced away.

“Shhh, Shhh, it’s alright sweetheart, it’s just a natural part of me, just John…and I’m yours now, to do with whatever you want, remember? I’m not going to do anything with my cock that you don’t ask me to, I promise Sherlock.” He pulled himself away but continued to press kisses onto Sherlock’s face and mouth. “Mmmmm, you taste so good!”

“I want you back now, John, I liked it, I was surprised that’s all.”

“You sure know how to flatter your Alpha, Sherlock.” John’s tone was teasing. 

He gathered Sherlock firmly against him and pressed the two of them together, head to toe. The sensation was heart-stopping! John groaned and was not able to prevent a small thrust of his hips against Sherlock despite his best effort. He waited anxiously, but when he heard an answering groan from Sherlock he gave two more firm pushes against the softness of Sherlock’s belly. He could feel Sherlock erect and hard now too, small but insistent against his thigh. 

“I want to take you in my mouth, to suck you, Sherlock, may I?”

“Yes!”

“If you would like to use a condom we will, of course. But my tests are up-to-date, Sherlock, so we don’t need to. I’m alright either way.” He stroked Sherlock’s chest. 

“No, John, don’t want it.”

John smiled and began to kiss his way down Sherlock’s chest and belly to his cock, stroking him with his hand as he did so. Not rushed, he took his time, exploring Sherlock with his hand and tongue, enjoying his heady scent and warmth. It was only when he began to taste pre-ejaculate that he moved to take Sherlock fully into his mouth. As he opened his mouth to take him in, he placed his hands firmly on Sherlock’s hips, knowing Sherlock’s pleasure would be intensified by being able to strain against John’s hold. Then he slowly and purposefully began to bring Sherlock to orgasm; making insistent flicks with his tongue against the tip of his cock and sucking him; his lips forming a tight, wet ring just below the delicate head of his cock. 

The last coherent word Sherlock gasped out before he came with a fierce thrust against John’s hands was “Jo−hn!” After that he was inarticulate; groaning and writhing under John and releasing a small but heavenly scented spurt of ejaculate into John’s mouth. A gush of his lubricant; slick and seductive appeared between his thighs and at the sight and smell of it, John was forced to pull back, take a shaking breath and count to five; now was not the time to flip Sherlock onto his belly, part his buttocks and drive into him…

The counting worked. John’s ferocity melted away and he watched with tender affection as Sherlock, lying wilted on the sheets beside him, finally opened his eyes to look around for John. When he found him, he smiled, said, “I love you, John,” in a rough whisper and closed his eyes again. John grinned to himself; obviously a short rest was in order.

But even as he fell back against the sheets, Sherlock’s forehead began to furrow and his mouth twist painfully. He winced and arched his back and at the same time pushed his buttocks down into the bed. He reached for John and said, “Please!”

As he saw Sherlock's discomfort, John kicked himself. He should have anticipated that Sherlock might suffer again from arousal and orgasm, given his first unpleasant experience! John was furious with himself! But, aloud, he soothed, “It aches again, Sherlock?”

Sherlock moaned and almost sobbed as he clenched John’s hand in his. 

“Alright, turn on your side, Sherlock. We can fix this for you. I’m sorry. I should have thought to prevent this, to spare you from going through this again.”

“It’s okay John! But I just need you, please!”

John eased Sherlock onto his side and encouraged him to draw his knees up to his chest. He then wrapped his arms around Sherlock from behind and pressed close. “I’m entering you now, Sherlock. You are ready for me, I promise. I won’t hurt you.”

Withdrawing a hand from Sherlock’s chest he used it to guide his cock to Sherlock’s entrance where he smoothed Sherlock’s lubricant over himself and assured himself that Sherlock was thoroughly wet. He then positioned himself carefully and entered Sherlock in one smooth thrust. He only just had time to absorb Sherlock’s deep, shuddering groan of relief and the involuntary jerk of Sherlock’s hips back against him before John was submerged in his own stunning sensations. The muscles of his lower abdomen twisted painfully at the shocking stimulation of Sherlock’s body around his cock. He gasped at the hard punch of it but even as he did, his body caught up with itself and the painful spasm turned rapidly to pleasure. 

He locked both arms tightly around Sherlock and laid his cheek against Sherlock’s back and began to thrust into him. The sensation was bliss beyond anything John could have imagined! Even sexually experienced as he was, he had never felt the level of physical and emotional arousal that he felt now. Too late, he realized that he was utterly unprepared for it; a fierce instinct to dominate and subdue his Omega absolutely, was swamping him. He tried to fight it but he was already lost, helpless against the powerful drive to claim Sherlock. He gritted his teeth with the effort to stop before he hurt Sherlock or frightened him, but his body disobeyed him and he continued to push into Sherlock, hardly withdrawing before surging against him again.

John’s anguish was for nothing, as it turned out. For, fortunately, Omega instincts are just as powerful as Alpha instincts and Sherlock was more than equal to John’s passion. Sherlock reveled in the exquisite pleasure of opening his body and his heart to his mate; the man Sherlock trusted with his well-being more than he trusted even himself. His body softened in John’s arms and he melted with happiness and pleasure; willing John, in this moment, to mold and re-shape him into something new and precious. If Sherlock had been in heat, almost certainly, that something precious would have been defined by the creation of a new life; a delicate miracle arising from indestructible love.

Feeling Sherlock pressed against him, eager and excited, John finally allowed himself to give in to his Alpha nature. He pressed his cheek to Sherlock’s back and clung to him in awed gratitude; knowing that at last he had found his home; the extraordinary being he held in his arms, his beloved Sherlock, was the guardian of his heart and his life. With this realization, his body convulsed and he stiffened with the physical exertion of orgasm and ejaculation; utterly vulnerable in that moment but entrusting his body to Sherlock. His groan of release resounded around the quiet bedroom, “Sherlock…God…I love you…!”

As John stilled behind him, Sherlock gave a contented hum. He carefully disengaged himself from John and turned over in John’s arms to look into his eyes. He smiled brilliantly and said, “I love you too, John. You are amazing!” He kissed John’s lips. “I’m yours now, right?”

John smiled tenderly and stoked Sherlock’s cheek. “My love, you've always been mine, isn't that what you said?”

Sherlock’s smile turned to one of delight. “Yes!” He looked carefully at John, whose eyes were beginning to close. He whispered, “Before you go to sleep, John, I want to tell you, I've done all the calculations using the available data and I estimate that I’ll be at my most fertile in fourteen days, three hours and 37 minutes.” 

John opened his eyes wide in amusement. “Oh…?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and blew out a breath. “Bonding and babies, John!”

John grinned, then laughed, then kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you each one of you for reading and for commenting. Writing is my cake and you readers are the icing! And cake with icing is my favourite food.


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